UNfold
by bleachlover20053
Summary: Everything is over, now I can live a life - is what Shiki had thought after the incident with Lio Shirazumi had come to a conclusion. But is everything really over?
1. Chapter 1

"Shiki, are you awake?"

My nonsensical mumbling is drowned out by the soft stuffing of the pillow, where I decided hide my face from the merciless glare of the morning sun. My sluggish body slumps forward as I attempt to get up and I end up where I started. I was never the morning person, especially if I stayed up past midnight. Despite knowing that, Mikiya was always insensitive towards it and phoned at the worst times possible.

"You know that Chinese restaurant we were going to go last month? I got us reservations for 8 o'clock."

I curse the dry heat of the never ending July and reach into the refrigerator, taking out a bottle of spring water I stocked up on last week. I choke on the first gulp as my unprepared throat tries to swallow the freezing water and a couple drops land on the floor next to the phone.

"I heard you finally passed your first year. Took you long enough, I suppose…"

"I don't want to hear that from a drop out."

"...anyway make sure you come on time, it'll be my treat. And also, there's something we need to talk about. I…"

I press the _stop _button with toes before the recorder can finish playing Mikiya's call. The early summer heat wave and hearing _his _voice in the morning leaves a nasty taste in my mouth. The bottle makes cluttering noises as it lands in the pile of trash that accumulated over time. Another day, another bottle. Nothing has changed. Not a damn thing.

***

I decided to skip the second half of the lessons to visit Touko's old work place. The place is barren now that its master has disappeared. Mikiya was pretty pissed when she left without saying good-bye; or maybe it was because she didn't leave his long over due pay cheque.

"I can't believe this," he said as he placed the note Touko left behind into his pocket, "I'm gonna keep this, and make sure she pays me in full the next time I see her."

I don't know the exact values, but as he was putting it away I swear I saw an "_I O U_"with a six digit number.

Spiders and other pests have begun to nest and a blanket of dust covers the furniture with an unfamiliar grey hue. Mikiya used to take care of the place for a few months: fixing it up, cleaning every once in a while, saying that Touko will show up one day and scold him for not taking care of the place during her absence.

Amused, I descend to the basement. The dripping sounds of water from the leaking pipes sends a shiver down my spine as the stench of burnt fabric mixed with humidity burn the inside of my nose. The room brightens up instantly as I flick the light switch, revealing burnt remains; all victims of Azaka's rage. The room is model after an indoor shooting range, fully equipped with moving targets and other various training items. The walls have a dull bluish paint, probably one of Touko's distasteful "work of art," with black chars that Azaka created when she couldn't control her powers.

The stench of the room begins to irritate me, and I decide that I have wasted enough time reminiscing. Just as I'm about to turn off the light and head back upstairs, I notice something hanging from the corner of my eyes. I quickly reach for it and yank it off the hook, tearing the back of it ever slightly. It is a doll, more specifically a burnt remain of what used to be a doll. The chestnut brown tint of the hair and the ever so familiar red jumper it had on; from head to toe, it is hand sown and carefully crafted. The material is durable and fire retardant – there is no doubt it was built to take as much punishment as its master bestowed upon it. The burns on it were rather new, no more than few days old. As disturbing as it might sound, it pleased me a little to know that she still feels the same way after _that _happened.

_Shiki, are you awake?_

_No, so let me sleep a little longer…_

With the sun so high up, no one would have suspected that 8 o'clock was only ten minutes away. The downtown air is filled with the smog from public buses and drab haze from lit cigarette butts. Sounds of beggars asking for change, the frustrated cries of car horns, the mindless chattering of barely adolescent girls begins to drive me insane. _That's just the noise of life, _he said once, _A dead person can't make any sound. Even your complaining is a sign saying you're alive, congratulations Shiki. _I remember punching him in the arm afterwards.

_There's something we need to talk about._

_Yeah? What is it? _

It's already thirty minutes past midnight, and no sign of Mikiya. The stupid key kept getting jammed, making it impossible to unlock the door to my apartment. I shake it a little, hoping that it will make a difference, and miraculously enough, it does. I kick off my boots and loosely hang my jumper and my kimono on to the wooden hanger without locking my door. I take my second bottle from the fridge and start chugging as much as I can and pour the rest over my head as I bend my head over the sink.

Roughly drying my hair with a towel, I stare at the phone that lies silently on the floor. No glowing green light, no new messages. I throw the towel with onto the floor, and playback the last message. I leave the door open, so that when he arrives, he can just enter. I face the wall and sleep on my half of the bed, so that he can just slip in once he is done cleaning up.

_There is no point_.

I know that all too well. It's been months, but I still can't go to sleep if I don't perform this daily ritual.

"Shiki, are you awake?"

"No, just about to go to sleep"

"You know that Chinese restaurant we were going to go last month? I got us reservations for 8 o'clock."

"Yeah? That's great, I always wanted to try their dumplings."

"I heard you finally passed your first year. Took you long enough, I suppose…"

"I don't want to hear that from you, you damn drop out."

"...anyway make sure you come on time, it'll be my treat. And also, there's something we need to talk about…"

"What did you want to talk about Kokuto?"

"I…Never mind, I'll tell you in person. 8 o'clock, got it?"

"You better not say something stupid," and I begin to doze off. The bright sun is no longer present, and the cicadas sing their requiem. The night breeze is mild, but my body is filled with solitary chill.

"Message end," the pre-programmed voice of a monotone female declares.

The cold envelopes me, and my mind goes blank. That is when I know I have fallen asleep.

"This message was recorded on _Tuesday March 18__th__." _

_A dead person can't make any sounds._

_You're wrong about that Kokuto. Very wrong. _


	2. Chapter 2

March 19th, 2000 – Police Rages as Detective's Cousin is Killed by a Drunk Driver!

It was a day like no different from others at Chinatown. That is to say, until an unfortunate accident took the life of one, Kokuto Mikiya. A former university student, and a younger cousin of Akimi Daisuke, a detective of the homicidal unit that was responsible for brining conclusion to the serial killer incident last year.

The incident occurred around 8:12 pm, where the said victim was crossing the street to rendezvous with a friend. Just then, to his misfortune, a delivery truck driven by a drunk driver…

_The damn newspaper article depicts nothing. Only trivial information, it does not tell that whole tale...at least, not the way I saw it…_

_The scene repeats in my head over and over again. The black cement is covered with red paint. No, that's no it. There's a word for that when it comes out of the body. Body? Whose? There are shattered pieces of glass everywhere, all of them glittering like stars on a red, red sky. Oh, I recognize those pair of glasses anywhere. Geez, even though you can't see without these. Damn, that Kokuto, where is he?_

_Shiki, are you awake…we need to talk…_

Drip drip…drip drip…drip drip…

The sound of the droplets tapping against the window raises my awareness as I get up. The mattress lets out little squeaks as my feet manoeuvre their ways across the sheets and plant themselves on the wooden floors. The glass windows tremble as the passing gust makes its impact. I peer through the sliding glass door, which separates this room from the world outside, and notice that the laundries are still hanging. I bear no mind. They were wet in the first place; they will eventually dry once the sky clears up.

"Besides, watching the forecast and taking down the laundry isn't my job."

_Then whose is it?_

The boom echoes as my fist meets the wall in a full-on collision. The wall is indented with the shape of my knuckles, and crimson trickles descend from my reddening left hand. _You need to get that cleaned up. _I know. I breathe in as the warmth of my blood leaves me, mingling with the running tap water – dying it with red tint only at first and finally fading away. With my freehand, I open up the top kitchen drawer, where Mikiya decided to place the first aid kit. It wasn't much of a kit, more like a brown wooden box labelled: _For Shiki_. It was filled with useless junks like a bottle of disinfectants, various salves for different types of injuries, and rolls of bandages that can stretch from Tokyo to Kyoto.

"Huh?" I turn off the kitchen tap, baffled. The worn out box that reads _For Shiki_ is missing. I remove the drawer, going through the inventory. Nothing. Doubtfully, I open the second drawer, then the third. Once again, nothing.

Nothing, it's not here.

_I must have misplaced it._

Nothing, it can't be found.

_It's probably under my bed._

Nothing, it is gone.

_Call Mikiya, he'll know._

The drawers close shut as my hips lean against them, and slowly descend towards the ground. I open the fridge from the spot and take out the last bottle of water. I drink. I drink, I drink, I drink – until there is nothing. The empty bottle scatters its way across the deserted floors, leaving a faint trail of water on the lifeless ground. I'm unable to move, the thirst is too much, and so I just sit. Sit and stare. Only silence accompanies me.

"Was this room always this hollow?"

A single queen sized bed, a telephone, and few magazines lying about. A home? Only a fool would call it such. Such void space, decorated with inexistence. Wasted potential? Life unnoticed. In this disjointed world, so out of frame, I allow the void to corrupt my body. I gather my knees as close to my chest as possible and wrap my arms around them. I pull my legs closer, almost to embrace them. I hunch my back and lower my face, shrouding it with a blanket of shadows. My thoughts run wild. It's dark, full of hatred, but sends unfamiliar thrill to my mind. Rush of blood thirst rages through the veins. Then an image of _him_ appears. A feeling of unease settles in my chest. I cannot explain it; I have no means of expressing it. My chest knots and my muscles contract, and hot pain soar from my bosom and rains down on my body.

"It hurts," I collapse on to the floor, my breath faltering, my mind slipping into slumber, "It hurts. Kokuto, what should I do?"

_Do? Why, don't you just do what you've always done?_

I don't hear the rain anymore; I guess it must have stopped.

_Did you forget? There is no way you could have. After all, it's a part of you._

Why is everything so dark? Did someone turn off the light?

_Don't worry about that, let's just go and have some fun._

I can feel the floor creaking…who could it be?

_You'll find out soon enough, till then sleep well._

"Are you awake, Shiki-san?"

A distant voice comes to my aid. The voice is refined and gentle. The spoken words carry a type of warmth that is long forgotten. Floors begin to creak as the soft steps approaches me, then arriving to a stop. I feel several fingers stroking my cheeks, tickling me with a clumsy sensation.

"You're going to catch cold if you sleep on the floor like this, Skiki-san."

"Kokuto?" I ask, doubtfully.

"Yes," the voice replies with an amused tone, "though it has been quite a while since you called me that Shiki-san."

My eyes remain shut. _I must be dreaming, _is what I told myself. The temperature of the floor had long merged with mine – it is no longer cold, I cannot feel anything.

"Shiki-san, hurry and get up!"

_I cannot hear anything_

"Jeez, don't fool around, I know you're awake."

_I cannot see anything_

"Don't make me pinch you."

_I cannot feel anything_

"Find, I guess I'll leave then. Good-bye, Shiki-sa– Kyaah!"

"Don't go, , Mikiya. Don't leave me," the words escape from my locked lips as I hold a grab of Kokuto's ankles. The ankle is soft, and unbelievably smooth. It is also very frail and thin, but holds much body heat that makes my hand sweat just from contact. The leg is fidgeting, trying to loosen my grip, and eventually makes its escape.

I get up, using my arms as a sensor to try and get a hold of anything that may support my slumbering legs. I try to open my eyes. The lids are heavy, stiffened from the excess sleep. Once they do open, the glare of the unwelcoming sun blinds my chaste eyes. With my blur vision, I can make out the figure of the person still lying on the ground. My eyes focus bit by bit, until the image of the person becomes clear.

"Azaka?"

"Ouch. Yes, Shiki-san," she says in an angered tone. She gets up, dusting off what ever got on her during her fall. When she is done, she looks at me with a questionable stare – a mix of irritation and astonishment – then lets out a huge sigh, "Oh jeez. What were you up to now, Shiki-san?"

"…" I can't help but stay dumbfounded.

"Is something wrong, Shiki-san?"

"Why are you here, Azaka?"

"…Are you feeling ill at all?" asks Azaka with a concerned look. Her face comes close to mine, and then I feel a warm sensation radiating from the forehead. Her forehead is touching mine, and I can see her eyebrows moving up and down as she observes the temperature.

She detaches from me. She starts rubbing her chin with the index and thumb like a detective from an old school movie, all the while keeping her eyes closed for concentration. A split second later, she opens her eyes and speaks, "You're not feverish. Actually, you're a bit cold, Shiki-san. Have you been eating and sleeping properly?"

"Ah…yeah," I reply back.

"Hmmm…I see," and turns her back against me, facing towards the rest of the room. She puts her hands on her tiny waist, and breathes in with conviction. "Shiki-san?"

"Yes?"

"This place needs to be cleaned up," she arbitrarily states as she rolls up her sleeves.

Azaka gets on her knees and start collecting the scattered magazines, while I remain dumbfounded in this unlikely state of affairs. She is happily humming to a song I never heard before. It is an uplifting tune, probably a song from a TV program or anime. I watch her make my bed when suddenly, a strange thirst overcomes me. I open the fridge to fetch a bottle of water. Nothing. I open up the cupboards and get my self a cup. _Woosh!_ A stream of cold water bursts out from the tap as I fill the cup to the brim. I leave the tap on while I gulp down the whole glass like a drunkard in one go.

"I didn't expect you, of all people to show up here," I tell her, for the first time, what has been on my mind."

"Why would you think that?" she asks, her back still turned against me.

I am bewildered by her reply. The cup has long finished filling up and has begun to overflow, wetting the outer surface.

"Well," I turn off the tap, and once again the only sound is just the two of us, "it's just…I…no. Never mind."

"Oh, okay… Oh, right! Shiki-san," she turns around this time and faces me. She finishes making the bed, and I am about to sip down my second glass of water.

She has a confused look on her face.

_What is it? Just say it already._

She crosses her arms below her bosom.

_Why is my throat itching so badly? _

She only stares at me, while I raise the glass to my lips.

"Shiki-san, just now when you were calling me," she begins to talk, "you called me by my surname. Why?"

_I mistook you for him. _

_I would never have called you that if it wasn't for the mistake._

_Only he can be called that._

_Kokuto, damn he sounds like a French poet._

"And also," she continues with a worried tone. She is scratching her head, as if she is attempting to recall something. She is looking at me with a quizzical look. She stops for a moment, trying to gather her faint traces of memory and finally she says:

"Who is Mikiya?"

_Crash!_ The glass shatters, water everywhere, this is why I hate using glass cups, but there's not a single damn bottle left.

***

_Ring! _The calling signals echoes in my ear drums several times before I am met with the monotone voice of the voice mail woman. I slam down the phone, disappointed. This makes it my fifth attempt for the day. Zero and five. Not once did she return any of my calls, nor bother showing herself in the past week. _Did she even listen to any of the messages I left her? _

"So, she's not picking up today either," I say out loud to myself in an empty warehouse.

_She will be fine, _these empty thoughts of comfort only aggravates my insecurity.

_She is Shiki after all, there is no need to worry. _

"No, that's precisely why I'm worrying," my fingers trace the lingering scar on my left eye, "Life is but a fleeting dream. Are you dreaming right now? Shiki, are you awake?"


	3. Chapter 3

_It began snowing early that day. A set of grey nimbus flew over the city sky and spilled blankets of white flakes. As I peered through the veranda, I could see several children playing with the snow that fell the night before. The sight of couples locked in arms, a rowdy group of workers waiting to go home, and couple of men in red, trying to get donations from the nearby pedestrians, pollute my sight. The tiny flakes of snow invaded my room through the bare windows of the apartment complex, only to melt soon after. _

_I do not understand why people find snow all that preferable to rain. Is it because the pale, white complexion gives people the sense of purity and innocence? Or maybe it is the unique, intricate design that each flake holds? I do not know. While it is true that one cannot create a balled weapon out of rain, or make a merry fat man with a carrot nose, I do not find them all that pleasant. In fact, I find them rather grotesque. Pale and white, it exists only to melt in the passage of time - much like a dead body. _

_Yes, I much prefer the rain. _

_The green light on the answering was blinking. On and off, on and off – signalling me to listen to the last words recorded within it. Crouching down slightly, I pushed the play button and the silence was broken by the usual suspect. _

"_Shiki, it's me," his voice was discernible as always, never needing to leave a name, "I got caught up with some work at the job, so I will be a little late."_

"_This message was recorded on Sunday December 17__th__," the machine announced. _

_With Touko nowhere to be seen, Mikiya had no choice but to look for another job. It had been difficult with his left eye the way it was, but fortunately enough he found a job as a librarian. I visited him intending to pick him up from work. The first thing I noticed walking in was the overwhelming silence the large halls exemplified. The large shelves were filled with books and stood dominantly like castle walls. That rustic smell of moist paper that has challenged time over and over again irritated my nose. I quickly covered my nose and my mouth, not wanting to end the silence. _

_Why? I guess a part of it was because I didn't want to disturb anybody, but that wasn't it. No, my reasons were completely selfish. I didn't want to make a sound because of him. He sat behind a wooden desk, his hand gently supporting his head as he rested on it while his mind was completely focused on the book in front of him. With a pile of books to his left and those worn out glasses lightly sitting on the bridge of his nose, I was absorbed into the image of what I imagined he would have been if he had not met me. Silent days - ones where all Mikiya had to worry about were not being able to pay the rent on time or what to have for dinner. Leaning against one of the bookcases I pondered what it would have been like for him, if Mikiya had not experience our fateful encounter. _

_Mikiya's voice woke me up from that day dream, saving me from another hell yet again. _

"Shit," I cuss under my breath.

I look at the blisters on my feet. The puffy, inflamed outbreaks had already popped, leaving a layer of sticky, red blood and puss. People walk by with strange glances and pass on by. It must have been odd sight for them – a barefooted woman running in the rain as she left a trail of blood behind her. For all I know, they probably saw me as no more than a prostitute who ran away from an illegal brothel ran by some local yakuza. Most likely not everyone thought that way, but fact remained that I was in a suspicious position and no stranger was going to risk anything to help such a woman.

_At least not anyone here, not anymore._

The rain I couldn't hear or feel anymore seem like bullets and knives – killing me without intent thousands of times and again.

I can picture Azaka's dumbfounded face as I bolted out the door like a mad man. No, possessed would be a better way to describe the impulsiveness that drove me up to this point. No shoes, no socks – just a few tens of miles of concrete and city trash tracked under my feet from my house to wherever my deranged mind took me. In that state of uncertainty I came across one quizzical face after another only to be given the same answer over and over again.

"Kokuto Mikiya? Who is that?"

Of course some said more than they should have, in which case I responded with equal hospitality.

_You shouldn't be so violent Shiki. You are a girl after all._

Shut up Kokuto, I don't need this from you right now.

His past work place and his former apartment weren't helpful. I would ask his friends from high school but many are strangers and I wouldn't know where to start.

With no way to track him down, my instincts led me to here. Looking up I see a house that is both familiar and strange to me. It is a typical two floored estate with beige walls and reddish-brown tiles covering the roof. Its front yard has a small patch of green grass, hardly enough to be considered a lawn, and concrete path that makes up the driveway, which splits off to form a walkway to the front door. I look around and see that the building is identical to all the other houses – the way they are built in suburban neighbourhood – in all aspects but one. I take a good look at the sign that hangs beside their front door.

"Kokuto"

I hesitate to step forward. This would be the second time I visited this place, but unlike that time two years ago, I am all alone this time. There was no Kokuto to guide me and no SHIKI to push me forward.

_I need to know_.

_I don't want to know. _

The urge to know – the unyielding need that I must satisfy – is being challenged by an unsurpassable wall of fear – the fear of knowing.

"Oh my!"

Before I noticed a semi-familiar face opens the door. Her round face showed the years of kindness and the hardship of being a mother. Her small, yet clear eyes look at me with worry – not for herself, but for the stranger who stood in front of their door under the freezing summer rain.

"Ah," a gasp escapes my mouth, "Obaa-san."

"Hush, dear," she says as she grabs my arm. She lightly tugs it, intending to lead me inwards, but I stand still in the rain.

I shake my head lightly and she responds by backing off. My eyelids feel heavy and the image of her begins to blur out of shape. The air coming in is no longer warm and gets trapped in my throat. The exhaling breath is no better as it gets mixed with wet coughs.

"Ko...ku...to..."

"Yes, yes this is Kokuto residence," she says desperately in hurry. "Come in and dry off before you catch something, Ryougi-san."

"You know who I am?"

"Yes of course I know you! You've been here before," her voice is a mix of empathy and concern as she tries to guide me in to her home once more.

_Ah, were those the words I was waiting for? _

I close my eyes and face upwards towards the sky. The rain is unrelenting, hitting me with its chaotic melody.

"You are always welcomed here," Mrs. Kokuto says holding my hand.

_Warm._ I had forgotten how warm another's hand feels since Mikiya's death.

With relief swelling up in my chest, I manage to follow Mrs. Kokuto in. Not minding the puddles forming on the wooden floors, she fetches me a towel and goes to warm up a bath. I remember the interior rather vividly, especially the tatami floored living room where he and I shared oranges under the kotatsu.

My face flinches a bit. No, maybe it was a smile.

I peek through the sliding doors and see that not much has changed with the exception of the missing kotatsu that was probably put away for the summer. I slide the doors a bit wider and notice that there are new picture frames hung around the white walls of the room. With closer examination I can see that they were of Azaka.

_He never really liked taking pictures._

As if wanting to show a snapshot documentary of her growth, the decorator displayed pictures of Azaka from infancy to her current, more recognizable, self. While the decorator thought it would be amusing and was probably proud of their daughter's growth – I find it disturbing. I grab hold of the picture that was taken five years ago during Christmas. It is a picture of Azaka and her parents at a ski resort.

"The bath is ready," Mrs. Kokuto announces from the entrance of the room.

"Obaa-san, this is..."

"Oh that!" she says as she grasps her hands in a gleeful manner, "Azaka won the lottery at the supermarket on her way home and all three of us got to go for free for a whole two days."

"All three?" I ask, hoping I missed heard the number.

"Yes," she replies with a confused face, "Azaka, her father, and myself of course. But forget that! You need to take a bath and warm up!"

But that information cannot be correct. Mikiya said that Azaka rarely came home after moving out to her uncle's place and the only time Azaka spent time with her birth family was during a special occasion.

Shit, it's happening again.

_I need to know_.

_I don't want to know. _

"What happened to Mikiya then?" I ask, expecting the answer she is going to give.

I run. I refuse to take hear the answer and run out of the house before she answers. My legs can only take me so far before they give up and collapse to the ground.

"Ah-ah-a..."

My soft screams are easily drowned by the distant thunder and the melody of the storm, while rain drops roll down my cheeks as if they are my own tears. Or maybe they are my tears, disguising itself in the form of the summer showers. I can feel everything being washed away – being drained away into the void.

_Damn it, I wish it would just snow instead._


	4. Chapter 4

"_Have you heard of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis Kokuto?" Touko-san asked out of the blue. Sitting rather sloppy in her leather desk chair, she seemed more bored than usual. _

"_I can't really say that I have," I replied without much interest in the topic. _

_It had been only a month since I quit school and joined her office. If I look back now, it was rather impulsive and fool hardy thing to do to say the least. But I can't say that I regret it – no, I supposed there was nothing to regret in the first place. Although it's slow, my days now seem livelier than the repetitive school days I spent at the university. _

_Gakuto was surprised to hear at first but he seemed to understand saying, "I knew one of us would end up quitting school early to get a job, but who would have thought it'd be you."_

"_Hey, Kokuto," Touko-san called with a slight hint of irritation in her voice, "I'm trying to tell you something here."_

"_And I'm trying very hard not to listen."_

_Though I said that, I already felt Touko-san's gaze on my back. Whenever she takes off her glasses, her intensity increases by a tenfold, almost if she's a different person. It's kind of like concentrating sunlight on one location using magnifying glass. But instead of an ant to zap fry, there was only me to take heat. _

_Letting out a small sigh, I gave into pressure and asked, "Isn't that the hypothesis that human thought is dictated by the language a person uses?"_

"_Ho, impressive Kokuto," she sounded sarcastic but I let that slip, "but that's not quite it. Without getting too much into the technicalities, the gist of it is that there are 2 versions behind it: first is the strong version which you have mentioned, and the second is the weak version. The weak version states that thoughts and non-linguistic are influenced by the language one utilizes. _

_Think about it. Law is something most people willingly follow, but aren't they just words on a paper? If you ask people as to why they follow it, some might say because morals and ethics while others think about punishment. Morals and ethics are also code of behavior in the form of words that are meant for the "good" of the people. But in reality that's just a political way of saying 'keeping the masses in order for government to rule.'"_

_What she says is true to some degree. After all, the law is nothing but some words scribbled into a paper with a seal to make it an official document. The reason people follow it may be different from people to people, but essentially one follows it because a dominant upper class reinforce it through power. Over time people may have began to not question them and just followed because it became a common sense, but then is common sense dictated by those words alone?_

"_But what about the people who break the laws, Touko-san?" I asked. The fairly odd tidbit suddenly bloomed into an open conversation. She may have noticed it herself, but her manner of speaking seem so seductive at times. _

"_If words dictated the thought processes of people, then surely those that live in today's society must understand the consequences that those actions carry."_

"_But that doesn't mean those people break every law in the world, and not all laws are just," she pointed out while lighting a cigarette._

"_The strong hypothesis seem too farfetched, it doesn't take into consideration of natural behaviors that are inherent to all living beings such as the need to eat. But let's look at it from the weak Sapir-Whorf hypothesis perspective where the words influence our decisions and thought processes. _

_Try thinking without using any words for a second, Kokuto. As silly as it might sound, you can't really think without it. And if your mind is blank, that's not thinking, all you are doing is blocking everything out through meditation. Humans, as evolved as they believe themselves out to be, cannot exist without these symbolic words to define their feelings and the world around them._

_We love because we know what love means. _

_We fear others because we know how to define "us" but cannot categorized the other and call it "them." _

_We can create images and think beyond the realms of reality because we have the flexibility to create a world through words. _

_The world is built around standards and the best way to describe those standards to others is through words. Or maybe it's the other way around. It is because words such as "good" and "bad" exist that we can mentally create a standard. Because we know linguistically the definition of good and bad, and because what is 'good' to us is also pleasurable, we often strive and are influenced to do 'good' things."_

_The summer sky bleached in orange and her come to mind. That day two years ago, back in our tiny classroom. I can remember her black eyes shining like a rare pearl. I can also hear the icy words that she stabbed at me-_

_People can only express emotions that they know- _

_Shiki doesn't like people-_

_Has lived by killing me over and over again-_

_All I know is-_

"_Murder," I mutter under my breath. _

_Maybe having it explained to me as an academic theory made it easier for me to absorb Shiki – no SHIKI – or at least what _she_ was trying to tell me so long ago. _

…

"Kokuto, did you find her yet?" asks Touko-san with a voice that has a higher than usual tone of irritation.

I give her a simple _no _through the pay phone. I can see white steams coming out of my mouth and nose as I breathe. It hasn't snowed once yet but chilly frost of winter was no stranger to the city. The crystallized frosts that cling against the glass booth looks like cracks; it is as if someone was attempting to break apart this fragile world with a sledge hammer.

The dimly lit light bulb shines like the sun compared to the darkened city, giving the sleep deprived me a yet-to-be migraine. I push my glasses up a little to massage the bridge of my nose, hoping that it will relieve some tension.

"There's not much to go by out here," I say through the phone, "Besides, there weren't many people that knew Shiki personally to start with. How about on your end, Touko-san?"

I already know the answer but ask anyway. There is a long pause and a silent, muffled inhaling. A long and loud exhalation follows soon after. I can picture the red haired magus taking a drag from her cigarette and crushing it against the astray as if she were kid crushing an ant with her heels for ruining the Sunday picnic.

"The Ryougi, aren't willing to co-operate," she finally replies, "but they assured me that she is not within the Ryougi manor."

"What?" I ask, punching the glass booth.

"You have to look from their point of view," says the magus, taking another drag from the smokes, "She is no longer the potential heir and Shiki left the Ryougi manor to live outside. That's practically leaving the household."

"But she's still their family," I retort back, but as soon as I say it I realize the anger is misplaced.

"I know and it seems her mother and her former attendant are trying to change the head's mind, but we have to move with the assumption of no help from them."

I try to understand what Touko-san is trying to say, but truth be told, it is hard to swallow.

They way they handle things are different.

The way they live is different.

They are different.

How are they different? Isn't parental love for their children supposed to be universal? Are we not all humans that live and exist in the same world?

_People can only express emotions that they know- _

Does that mean they don't know what love is? It just can't be. After all, they never gave up during the two years that Shiki was in a coma. Was it because she had to potential to be the head of the family, was that why they cared for her? So now that she is useless to them, the family abandons her?

Fatigue drains my body while chaos fills my head. I can feel the veins pulsating around the temple and I let out a groan.

"Are you okay Mikiya-kun?" Touko-san asks from the other side of the phone. "Maybe you should come back for the night and start again tomorrow."

Her voice has gotten a lot more tender compared to few seconds ago, which tells me that she had placed her glasses back on. The transition from her cold, indifferent attitude to her more gentle personality is something I will never get use to. Oddly enough, though, I really don't want to get used to it - after all, there can't be anything good that comes out from that.

"No, just a few more hours," I protest even though I know that my body can barely stand as it is.

"She's been gone for three weeks and you've been searching non-stop since then. You need rest. Resting for a night won't make much difference at this point," she says angrily with motherly concern.

"…"

"…Hello? Mikiya-kun, are you still there?"

"…Sorry, Touko-san…just a few more hours," I say and hang up the phone.

I enter the rented sedan and instantly shocked at how cold it is inside. Turning up the heat won't do any good; it'll only fill the car with cooked, nauseous gas that'll flip my stomach upside-down. With the seat cranked back to its fullest, I lie down on the driver's seat and take a break. A part of me urges to go back to the company building and rest there but I know that once I do, I'll become too comfortable to get up.

"This is better," I mutter to myself.

…

My eyelids are heavy but between the little gaps that are open I can see the light. The veil of light covers my surroundings with white darkness. I can't see anything. I can't feel anything. But my ears are able to pick up some coherence in this chaotic incandescence.

"…searching for?"

"…first…thought…"

"Thought?"

"…original conscience…"

The sounds are very subtle and I cannot catch all of them.

I can see two silhouettes standing above me. It seems my eyes have begun to adjust. But before I can make out who they are, the figure on my right places his hand over my eyes.

"Go back to sleep."

The voice belongs to a man, a man whom I met before. My eyes begin to close again as his whisper ring sharply in my ear like an electric signal. The words give no time to fight back – no, by the time I hear his voice, I am already a captive. And so, I return back to that place – is it a dream? A nightmare? It doesn't matter…

…The school bell rings alarmingly, waking me up from a weird dream. Never in my life have I been so grateful for having been woken up in such an abrupt manner at school. But, then again, I have never had slept at the school before until now, so this would be a first for multiple things.

I stretch out my arms over my head and begin to get blood flowing properly again, but then quickly lower them to hide my arms. There are several kinks and bruises on my upper body from yesterday's practice – probably the reason for my unexpected fatigue.

As I start to get up, I start to get a weird feeling…as if something is missing.

"Hmm," I moan as I sit back down.

The wooden chair feels hard and the uneven legs make it tilt back and forth as the weight shifts. It is not the type of feeling one gets when something is stolen or taken from you. It's almost as if something had died within yourself. Like a childish innocence that dies when one finally learns that the jolly ol' Santa is nothing more than your old man dressing up in a ridiculously large red suit.

No…it's not a "what" that is missing, but a "whom"…

"Ryougi-san, it's time for PE," the class rep calls by the door.

"Oh, I'm coming," I reply, remembering that I am still at school.

I seemed to have lost the time engaging in pointless train of thought, or so I judge. After packing up my belongings I start heading towards the gym when a headache takes over me. I lean against the wall to support myself as the pain subsides.

"It must be from the fatigue."

I take a deep breath and come to a conclusion that Ryougi Shiki cannot handle any more physical work today.

"So, I'll leave it to you," I say to myself, "_SHIKI_."

Correction – my other self.


End file.
